Title: What's HisAuthor: Kat LeeFandom: SupernaturalCharacter/Pairing: Dean/SamRating: PG-13/TChallenge/Prompt: nekid_spike A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words: Day 9: Warning(s): (W)IncestWord Count: 636Date Written: 13 August 2017Summary: Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Kripke, not the author, and are used without permission.

Dean groans as Sam’s booming voice slowly penetrates his unconsciousness. “Sammy,” he mutters into his pillow or, rather, the hotel’s pillow for hardly anything in this room belongs to him, “shudup.”

“I am not going to shut up, Dean, and I am not going to go away!” Sam replies furiously. Dean keeps his eyes stubbornly and tightly closed, so he misses his little brother’s finger jabbing at the mess he made coming in late last night. “You did this, didn’t you? The mud’s not a problem -- the hotel will just gripe about that, maybe charge a little extra --, but the blood?! How are we going to explain the blood, Dean? How are you going to explain it, huh? What the Hell did you do last night?!”

Not what he wanted, Dean thinks groggily, but then, he never gets to do what he wants. He rolls over onto his back and finally cracks his eyelids open to look at Sam. “Sammy,” he mutters. His brother’s already dressed for their next act in breaking this case. He looks good in a suit, and Dean can see why Crowley calls him Moose as he towers over him.

“Don’t ‘Sammy’ me, Dean, damn it! You’re the one who taught me to be more careful! You’re getting sloppy!”

“So what if I am? None of the idjits who come through that door are going to know the difference between blood from a kill, a Demon’s blood, and blood from a bad pack of meat!”

“That’s not the point, Dean -- “ He’s set to argue some more, but Dean reaches out and grabs his tie. “What are you doing?” he demands.

Dean shrugs, suddenly remembering he left all of his own clothes at the door. “What I want to,” he grumbles, “for once.” He tugs Sammy’s tie.

“Dean, we have a case -- “

“That can wait.” He tugs harder, bringing his brother closer to the bed. It may not be his bed, or his pillow, or his sheets, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be used.

“You are a horrible procrastinator,” Sammy complains.

“No.” Dean smirks. “I’m just good at putting off what I don’t want to do.”

“What, exactly, do you think a procrastinator is?”

“Somebody who puts things off, but I’m not putting everything off, Sammy. It’s past time we got to do a little of what we actually want to do.”

“Not while there’s a killer on the loose!”

“There’s always a killer on the loose or some kind of apocalypse or something else that we have to fight.” He gives another hard tug on Sammy’s tie, bringing his brother toppling down on top of him. Dean loops his tie around his fingers and keeps a tight hold on it. “Now,” he mutters, “shut up and come here.”

“But -- “ Dean pulls him closer, ignoring his protests. “Dean, the case -- “ Dean slams his lips onto Sammy’s, thrusting his hot, eager tongue into his sweet mouth, and Sammy finally remembers how to do as he’s told. Dean’s hungry kiss swallows his protests. Rather than rip his mouth free, Sammy moans, letting Dean’s tongue slip deeper into his mouth, and shuts up, allowing them both to do what they’ve truly wanted to do all week long.

The hotel bed may not be his, Dean remembers as he rolls Sammy over onto it. This bed may not be his, nor the pillow, nor the sheets, nor even the walls surrounding them, but what’s beneath him now is his, entirely his, and he’s all he’s ever going to really need in this world. Dean claims his territory again and again as they start rocking the bed that isn’t theirs in the room that isn’t theirs in the life that is theirs, even if they don’t always spend it the way they want.